Mass Effect: Where Angels Fear
by Suffering Soldier
Summary: Heroes are forged in the crucible of sacrifice. A young man is torn from the life he knows and finds himself amongst a new band of brothers on the crew of humanity's first Spectre. But with time against them, survival is not assured. OC fic. Rated for language and violence.
1. The Past Awoken

**A/N: Happy Hallowe- I mean, Merry Chris- crap. Well, Happy New Year at least. But hopefully you'll be able to forgive me given the amount of content here. Time got away from me, but I'm very happy with the end results. A little over three years ago, I posted the first two pages of Heroes Still Bleed, and I never could've imagined it would take me to where I am today. Thank you for your support, and I hope you enjoy the re-write.**

* * *

Nickeli slouched in his black office chair, boots kicked up on the plain wooden desk, eyes staring unfocusedly at the white screen of a loading webpage on his laptop. Life around the firebase had reached somewhat of a cycle of boredom, and the twenty-one year old found himself slowly but surely running out of things to keep busy.

A meager stack of stapled reports was neatly stacked in a corner of the table, what had once been days of paperwork completed before dinner. Blood tests, incident reports, and any number of other medical documents all completed, stapled, and waiting for the corpsman to hand them in to his superior in the infirmary.

Checking his watch, Nick frowned. _5:43 _

Glancing to the piles of crisp white paper, he ran his hand through his short brown hair. He'd been wasting time in his barracks for the better part of two hours under the pretense of working, and he could still stroll over to the medical building at any time with the documents and get commended for his efficiency. The only issue was that Lieutenant Gradler would simply drop someone else's reports in his lap and tell him to get cracking, but given the way he'd been climbing the walls as of late- more busywork might be exactly what he needed.

Turning the chair to look into the rest of the barracks behind him, his boots fell from the desk and the Private First Class began tapping a pen on the wooden counter, the dull _whap _it produced filling the small room as he absent-mindedly looked around and debated what to do for the remainder of the evening- and for the next day, and for the day after that…

The marine groaned as he realized how terribly monotonous things had become, half-praying for something- _anything _to explode. Hell, if a goat wandered into the perimeter and spontaneously combusted or something, that was fine by him.

However, his thoughts of flaming livestock were interrupted by the sound of the door swinging open and turned to see Lance Corporal Ditore —fresh from duty— step inside, greeting Nickeli with a nod.

"Hey Aaron," the corpsman greeted first, the inane musings leaving his mind just as quickly as they'd arrived. "What's up?"

The New Yorker was one of the seven other marines Nick shared the housing unit with and he chatted with the supply officer regularly. The two had been part of the same squad before they'd both been transferred to different units over a year ago, and now they had met again at their latest posting.

He was slightly Nick's elder, with thick black locks that sat neatly on the top of his head and hefty shoulders that gave him the appearance of a much larger man, despite his moderate stature.

"Grub's up in the Mess," the other marine declared, brown eyes surveying the room. "Spaghetti, I think." He added after a moment of thought.

The housing unit was very Spartan; simple whitewashed walls and bare cement floors, punctuated by the sterile white light cast by the two large florescent lamps overhead. With only several bunk beds and two small wooden tables for furniture, the room had plenty of space that no one had taken advantage of- with one exception. In the front left corner of the rectangular room, someone had placed a grungy vinyl chair that had been dragged out of a humvee, and the walls near it were adorned with photos of family or women that had been scotch-taped up there by the room's other tenants.

Standing, Nick quickly closed his laptop and placed it into its case. Zipping it shut, he quickly scanned the desk for anything else of importance he needed to secure before departing. It wasn't the he was afraid anyone would take his things, but he didn't trust his bunkmates not to spill something on it or otherwise abuse anything left in the open, and the private considered momentarily looking for someplace to stow the stack of papers. However when he was unable to find a convenient folder or empty drawer to put them in, he gave a mental shrug, figuring the barracks would be empty while he was gone anyhow.

Searching the room for his Berretta, he found the handgun under his bunk in the footlocker the marine kept his few personal effects in.

Aaron tugged at his collar while his companion checked his weapon, the logistics officer still garbed in his digital camouflage utility jacket and body armor as he paced near the entrance.

Collecting his sidearm and holster from the crate, he turned to find Aaron leaning on the doorframe waiting on him. With a nod to his fellow marine, the two departed.

Stepping into the dull evening light behind his companion, Private Vandas glanced around the dirt courtyard of Firebase Paladin, looking for any faces he recognized.

The barracks, like all the other buildings in the small fire support base, was a narrow, single-story structure formatted much like a motel with numerous separate rooms leading out on to a small, covered concrete walkway.

Combat Outpost Paladin was a small, unremarkable base of operations in the mountainous northwestern region of Afghanistan and only one of two military installations in the province; more of a supply center than a combat installation.

Nick peered over the wall of stacked Hesco bastions that formed the base's perimeter at the mountain behind it, shadows already present to cloak the peak's contours and turn the rocky incline into a massive black pane on the horizon. The sun was a brilliant orange on the rose background of the evening sky, casting a warm but quickly fading glow over the base. He'd found Paladin to be a quiet posting- the sector had been calm even before the Marines had arrived, and there was little for him to do but paperwork.

"You know," Aaron offered, drawing the private's attention. "For all this sitting around you do, you could transfer to a ship. The food would be better."

Nick didn't answer immediately, his face wrinkling thoughtfully. While the twenty-one year old would admit this was one of the more boring postings he'd been assigned, part of him didn't mind. As a corpsman, there were worse things than getting up every morning to warm chow and the occasional hot shower, and while the mountains meant the outpost didn't have some of the same amenities that their urban counterparts enjoyed; it seemed a small price to pay. Crunching numbers for medicine dosages and administrative work beat applying gauze while under fire- he supposed.

However, that boredom just didn't translate into switching to the 'Blue' side of the Navy, and the medic wasn't sure it was just the prospect of cramped quarters and even less action than now that didn't appeal to him.

"Maybe, but at my rank? Hell, I'd scrub bedpans all day."

The lance corporal laughed as Nickeli continued.

"_Or_, I could just sign-on to Logistics, they'll take any dumb monkey." The brown-haired marine mocked good-naturedly and elbowed his companion on the forearm. "I even hear they find the ugliest one and parade him around as their king."

The base's head of supply laughed again, and placed a hand over his chest in feigned injury. "It would be a real shame if a couple dozen camel spiders found their way into those new fatigues you requisitioned…" He commented innocently, giving Nick a devious, sideways look.

"Well, you'd wind-up under some cargo crate and then where would you be? 'Where the hell's Doc!?' 'He's in the sickbay with a bunch of spider bites on his ass!'" The private first class joked, embellishing his charade with dramatic hand motions.

The two shared another laugh as they neared the long, narrow building that contained the kitchen and cafeteria.

Anyone around the base would comment on the odd friendship the two shared. They argued and antagonized each other constantly, and while a card game might occasionally leave the two on harsh terms, none of the trivial disputes ever seemed to survive a few beers on furlough.

After the momentary silence, Aaron abruptly turned to his companion as they walked. "Your birthday's coming up, ain't it?"

The corpsman nodded. "It's a couple months off, yes."

"Any idea what you're going to do?"

Nick gave a shrug as he answered, exasperation in his voice. "I don't know, Aaron," It was the third time the lance corporal asked that week—as if he'd given it any further consideration—but since he was boring himself to death in the barracks every day, he understood that his companion had become equally tired of his duties as well. "Ask Rhodes for a two day pass and go to Kandahar?"

For a moment, the two again walked in silence as they neared the cluster of buildings containing the command center and the mess building. However, the raven haired marine scratched his chin with his thumb thoughtfully and broke the silence his counterpart had hoped would last.

"You're turning what- nineteen?"

"Twenty-two." The marine groaned.

"Yeah. So I figure hop in the back of a supply truck to Kabul and see if we can't get you laid." The lance corporal proposed enthusiastically and grinned at him.

The private glared, but was drawn away as a voice rose from ahead of them.

"Hey, Doc!"

Surveying ahead, the corpsman spotted someone ahead waving slowly in his direction. Raising a hand in acknowledgement, it took him a moment to recognize the man as one of the base's postal clerks.

Glancing to Aaron who'd been watching quietly, he nodded in the direction of the clerk. "I'm going to see what's up."

The lance corporal gave an affirmative grunt and split off, heading for the mess building.

As he neared, the clerk ducked into the nearby mail office and Nickeli followed, catching the screen door as it swung back at him.

Stepping inside, he was immediately presented with the mail clerk's back as he awkwardly reached over the tall wooden desk and grabbed a few things on the other side.

Straightening himself, the marine produced two items; a clipboard and a box. As the clerk checked the items, the twenty-one year old caught a glimpse of the name stitched into his shirt. _Schwan_.

"Vandas, Nickeli T., serial: three-seven-zero-five-eight-two?"

"Yep."

The man suddenly turned and dropped the box is Nick's hands then thrust the clipboard to him, offering a pen he'd secured from his front packet.

Jotting down his signature on the receipt, he returned the small plastic pen and turned his attention to the package.

It was a plain, utilitarian brown cardboard box a little smaller than the clipboard he'd been given, and sealed with clear packaging tape. Over the seam was a black and white shipping label, and suspicion grew in Nickeli as he looked it over in detail.

His name wasn't actually on it; instead the tag bore his service number and a number of barcodes. There was no postage on the box, and the label gave no hints as to its sender.

"Log says it came from a distribution center in Pennsylvania." Schwan stated plainly, glancing at a pink shipping manifest on the desk. "You have family around there?"

The other marine shook his head. "No." He replied as he studied the package carefully balanced on one palm.

Nickeli then departed abruptly, tucking the box under his arm and heading to the door without another word.

Watching the other man go, Schwan shrugged to himself and returned to his duties, giving the paperwork in his hand a casual glance before tossing it onto the counter.

It wasn't long before Nick found himself in the dinner queue; the still unopened box tucked awkwardly under one arm as he filed along with his tray held in both hands. It had earned him a few curious glances, but no-one had made any comments.

The private shuffled a bit as the line progressed, looking through the glass of the serving station while the kitchen personnel worked efficiently on the other side. Dinner was indeed spaghetti, and while the marine typically had a ravenous appetite, he took a somewhat meager helping of the pasta and a single piece of garlic toast.

He took his small meal to where Aaron had sat down and set his tray down across the table from him.

"That's _it_?" The lance corporal asked with genuine surprise, a stray noodle still dangling from between his slips.

Nickeli rolled his shoulders in response, sitting down and setting the box that had been cutting into his armpit next to his tray. Aaron's plate was piled high with spaghetti and toast, and also held a diet coke and small bag of chips he'd purchased from someone else on base.

The twenty-one year old simply wasn't hungry like he usually was; he just…wasn't. But the package…it just got stranger the more thought he gave it. The simple truth was that the young corpsman didn't receive a great deal of mail. A magazine might find its way through the military postal service on occasion, but other than that there weren't many people sending him stuff.

The few correspondences he'd had with old buddies in the States or at different bases during the early parts of his deployment had died out or become electronic, and his family- well, his family wouldn't be sending him anything.

Nickeli ate quietly for a while, barely tasting the night's meal as he sat lost in thought.

After ten minutes of silence between the two, Aaron finally spoke.

"Okay, what's in the box?"

Nick glanced up from where he'd been inattentively starting to eat to see Ditore pointing his fork at the object, a small amount of tomato sauce falling from the utensil to create a small red stain on the table.

"Uh- I don't know," he admitted, and went back to eating his supper.

"Well?"

The corpsman looked up from his meal, his brow cocked in unspoken questioning at the inpatient lance corporal. Much to the irritation of his companion, he gave another one of his infamous shrugs and went on eating.

Ditore gave a bitter sigh, then reached across the table and picked up the parcel.

The private watched quietly as he pulled at the tape along its edge, eventually wadding it up to and tossing the sticky mass of plastic onto the table in front of him.

Setting the package down, he pulled back the two cardboard flaps of the box.

Inside, a small black device rested imbedded in white styrofoam packing blocks. Reaching inside the box, Aaron unceremoniously pulled the object from its packaging and held it up to examine.

It was a touchscreen phone, with no decoration or writing in its black case, giving no indication to its brand or model. Thumbing the silver power button, the logistics officer frowned. "Dead battery."

Taking the device from his friend, Nickeli tried the power and giving his companion a doubtful glance, turning his hand to Aaron to show a glowing welcome message. Manipulating the touch screen for a moment more, the marine was prompted for a password. Keying in the first four numbers that came to mind, the device responded with an error message and, seeing he was making little headway, Nick dropped the phone into one of his pockets, resolving to look for a manual later.

Glancing at his empty tray, he stood and set the box next to his plate and silverware.

"I've got some stuff to finish in the barracks," he explained to Ditore who still had half his meal before him. His friend said nothing, but gave a nod as he brought his soft drink to his lips.

Dumping his plate and tray on the way out, Nick dodged the next wave of hungry marines as they entered the cafeteria and squeezed past them to exit into the courtyard.

Night had fallen quickly as it always did in the mountains, and the brilliant sunset that soaked the base in crimson light was quickly fading to usher the moon and stars into the sky.

Crossing the lot, the corpsman cast a disinterested looked around the base, returning a small wave thrown by a sentry as he chatted with several others near an armored humvee, their voices lost to the soft _putter putter _of the idle vehicle's engine.

However, as he got nearer to his quarters, Nickeli became aware of a shadow follow close behind him.

Glancing over his shoulder, the private found that he was indeed being followed and turned to address his unannounced companion. "What'd you want, Doc?"

Doc gave no response, the young pup instead cocking his head inquisitively at the corpsman, tail whipping side-to-side with enthusiasm.

The dog had been one of the many strays from the villages in the south, unique in that it had followed one of the foot patrols back to Paladin, likely enticed by the bits of food strays passing marines occasionally tossed. It had made itself a home around the base, sleeping under parked jeeps during the heat of the day and exploring the grounds when it cooled off in the evenings.

It had been named 'Doc' after an incident a few weeks after Nickeli had transferred. The private had been caught napping outside the barracks in a folding chair, and when the pup came across this, it decided the snoozing marine's lap looked like a comfortable place lay down. When passing enlisted man woke the corpsman with a jeer, the groggy medic retorted sarcastically that he had more in common, "with the damn dog" than the rest of the outpost's garrison, and some of the other marines had taken to calling the dog by his nickname.

Now the small animal sat near his feet, hazel eyes watching Nickeli expectantly. The young man stooped for a moment, scratching Doc behind the ears.

Righting himself, he stepped around the dog as it continued to dance near his feet, nimbly dodging the private's heavy combat boots as the mutt continued to vie for his attention; the prospective payoff of something tasty should he get it.

Entering his barracks, Nickeli tossed the empty box to the side as he headed for his workstation. With a heavyhearted sigh, the corpsman examined the area and picked up several scattered pieces of paper, silently cursing as he did so. Gathering what remained of his reports, Nick brought one of the ruined documents to eyelevel and groaned. "Damnit, Lakey…"

The hours of work written neatly on the treatment plan had been destroyed, a long series of black lines marring several rows of text. Below that, "_1. Fuck Bitches 2. ? 3. Profit" _Had been scrawled in barely legible black marker in what could only be his bunkmate's handwriting.

Glancing around the room as if he suspected Craig might still be hiding nearby, the marine wadded up the piece of paper and threw it in the direction of small waste bin that sat near the door. The medic scratched head in pondering- this didn't have anything to do with the incident last week, did it? Lakey was always a bit of jackass, but had never struck him as the type to hold a grudge.

After a moment of fruitless thinking, the medic discarded the thought and pulled a chair up to the desk and set to work once again.

The efficiency of Private Lakey's laziness was borderline admirable. While Nick's roommate hadn't cared enough to cross out every line he'd written or tear up all the reports he'd typed, he'd been very selective about what documents he'd vandalized.

Dosage charts, treatment notes, and anything else handwritten had apparently bore the brunt of the attack- judging by the 'confetti' that littered the floor and desk surface. Nickeli sat with a frown, staring down at a fresh manuscript as he attempted to recall a detail from one of his lost reports.

With a sharp sigh, he tossed his pen next to his laptop and set both his elbows down on the desk, either palm against his temples as his gaze bore into the piece of paper.

In a very brief window of time, he'd gone from having a stack of reports waiting to be turned in the following morning, to having several hours of work to recreate before he retired to his bunk for the night.

Checking his watch, the private found that nearly two hours had already passed.

The corpsman rose from the chair with a groan as his back protested movement after sitting for so long. Stretching, Nick looked around the again empty barracks.

Aaron and a few others had stopped in over the course of the evening to speak to him for a few minutes or to grab something, but they had all eventually disappeared to more lively sections of the base.

Craig hadn't turned up, which was probably wise given the mood he'd put his bunkmate in. But—unless he intended to sleep in one of the jeeps—he'd have to face the corpsman before the end of the night.

If Nickeli hadn't been paying any more attention, he might not have noticed when his pocket vibrated. Digging one hand into his pocket he—with no small amount of surprise—pulled out the phone he'd received only hours earlier.

Tapping the _Accept _button on the touch screen, he brought the device to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Nickeli Vandas?" A male voice questioned flatly, an odd buzzing in the background.

"Yes, who is this?"

With a click the line died and the private pulled the device from his cheek, the glass screen showing only the confused expression on his face.

He let the phone hang at his hip, glancing around the barracks as he was left to ponder the evening. Sitting back down, he laid the phone next to his laptop and went back to work. _Hell of an evening _he mused sarcastically.

* * *

Firebase Paladin sat silently in the night, the blanket of deep violet that cloaked the installation broken by the orange glow that spilled through windows and open doors. In the courtyard, a trio of sentries was huddled near a parked humvee.

Nearby, a group of marines sat on a covered cement platform near the vehicle shed, between them a piece of plywood situated precariously on several small crates to create an impromptu table.

"Fold," The man across from Aaron spat bitterly, throwing his cards on the table. "I swear to God, you guys're giving me bad hands on purpose."

The marine looked around the group accusingly, and his eyes lingered particularly long on the corporal with the deck of cards next to him. There was a collective groan amongst them, and Aaron simply went back to his cards.

"Relax, Lakey." The eldest among them—a thirty-something staff sergeant—replied calmly as he glanced to the corporal, signaling for him to resume.

The non-commissioned officer obeyed, meticulously shuffling the deck then laying down the next two cards.

The game continued quietly, someone occasionally commenting on a bad hand or remarking that they had other things they should attend to, but staying nonetheless.

Then, the silence was broken by a deep, concussive _thump _and everyone looked around before glancing unsurely to each other.

The sound rang out again, the crisp night air also carrying the clatter of metal-on-metal, and Staff Sergeant Brodie stood abruptly, his eyes fixed in the direction of the base's 81mm mortar battery.

He quickly scooped up his M4 carbine from where it leaned against a nearby support pillar and he murmured a question to the others. "Who the fuck is fir-"

The first explosion was bone-rattlingly close, and the sheer, deafening sound of the detonation sent Aaron tumbling backward over the crate he was sitting on. For a brief second, the ringing in his ears drown-out the cries of alarm of his comrades and the only indication of the following salvo of explosions was the sensation of the concussions resonating in his chest, loaning the situation a peculiar sense of surrealism as the lance corporal lie staring numbly at the stars above him.

However, he was quickly pulled back into awareness as a silhouette appeared over him and took hold of him by the vest, lifting him off the ground and setting him on his boots.

The stranger's hands still clamped around his collar, the man closed the distance between Aaron's face and his to reveal himself to be Brodie.

Ditore's gaze drifted from the expression of his friend, looking briefly at the smoking crater where a shell had landed frighteningly close then at the shadowy figures of other marines racing by, shouting as they went.

"Hey- hey, you with me, man?" Brodie yelled into his face, the staff sergeant's eyes clearly searching Aaron's for some indication of cognition. The lance corporal nodded fervently, though the words were scarcely audible against the piercing ringing invading his senses. By chance, the supply officer spotted his companion's shredded forearm, the sleeve of his utility jacket torn and bloodied. Meeting the man's eye once again, Aaron said nothing, though is expression conveyed his concern.

"It's fine," the other marine reassured him, picking up a rifle from where it sat nearby and pressing it into the corporal's chest for him to take. "C'mon."

* * *

Nick flinched involuntarily as several incoming rounds whizzed by, pinging off the body of the humvee he was crouched behind or landing in the dirt near him.

"Keep the light steady," the corpsman instructed over the deep clatter of heavy machine gun fire, looking up to the horrified face of the marine holding the flashlight, the man's expression of mix of helplessness and fear.

Regardless, the small cone of light continued to shake as it illuminated the casualty at his feet. "Get the trauma kit out of the truck." Nickeli said to his aid, the order almost swallowed by the sound of the vehicle's turret spewing lead toward the hills. Cody obeyed, one hand shooting into the back of the transport while the other tried with moderate success to keep the flashlight focused on the downed sentry.

The private had rushed from the barracks with nothing but his sidearm and knife, and had been forced to work with what ever medical supplies he could find. The medic lifted his palm away from the wound to examine it in the light and was immediately met by the grisly sight of the sentry's wound.

The marine had been shot in the neck, though by some stroke of luck the round had passed cleanly through without hitting bone or breeching his airway. Still, there was the very real risk of his nicked carotid artery hemorrhaging and killing him if the bleeding couldn't be quickly brought under control.

Feeling around blindly in the back of the humvee, the rifleman holding the light finally felt cloth. "I've got it!" He declared, extracting a drab green package with reflective white tape on the cover to form a small cross.

Nickeli's light disappeared momentarily as his companion open the bundle and spread it out in the sand, neat rows of medical dressings and sterile plastic packaging glistening slightly in the light.

"Good, now find a pad of gauze and fold it over on itself." The medic instructed as he reapplied pressure on the wound to slow the bleeding.

The man obeyed, extracting a field dressing and tore open the plastic casing before offering it to the private who quickly placed it over the wound, freeing one of his hands.

The wounded man groaned weakly, and the corpsman looked from his pale face to his assistant. Wiping one bloody palm on his sleeve, he beckoned for the flashlight.

Receiving it, he turned its beam on the medical kit. "Find a dose of morphine, and stick it in his thigh."

The marine bobbed his head in acknowledgement, pulling a small tube from the bundle and pulling the small plastic cap off the top of it to reveal a two-inch needle.

"Wh-What about his pants?" Cody asked hesitantly, drawing a sharp frown from Nick. As much as he'd preferred to be working with another medic, he needed another set of hands at the moment, whoever's they may be.

"Don't worry about his pants- stick it into his leg and push the release on the end of it."

The marine complied somewhat hesitantly then tossed the empty injector aside, looking to the corpsman for farther instructions.

"Go back into the kit and find a pressure bandage; we need to wrap this wound." He stated flatly, returning the flashlight.

The rifleman dug into the package again, thumbing through each pouch hastily as enemy fire continued to rain down.

Nickeli watched from where he sat over the casualty, but was suddenly blinded as warm blood splattered across the side of his face and he recoiled, and a surge of adrenaline sending his heart thumping against the inside of his chest.

His free hand shot to his eye, smearing blood across the side of his face in the shape of a palm and obscuring his vision further. Wiping the viscous fluid off his face with his wrist, the numbness of the endorphin rush subsided enough for the private to realize he was unwounded.

"Damnit, I'm hit." A voice off to the medic's left admitted, and Nick could hear that he spoke through gritted teeth.

Looking in that direction, he saw that the marine manning the M2 .50 caliber machine gun was sitting oddly inside the humvee's turret. A moment more of examination revealed that he'd been hit in the leg, a round having punctured the armored frame of the vehicle and caught him just above the knee, subsequently splattering blood in the direction of the other marines.

Nickeli glanced from the gunner to the casualty with concern, pondering how to treat them both. Seeing the conflicted medic, the marine in the turret shook his head and took hold of the machine gun once again, loosing tracer rounds and expletives into the darkness.

Glancing around the chaos of the night as it unfolded around him, the private spotted his assistant still struggling with the medical equipment.

"Cody, a pressure wrap!"

"Th-There's nothing here," the rifleman stuttered, the beam from his flashlight racing over the pouch as he continued to flip open pouches and thumb through pockets.

"Here, swap with me," Nick ordered, scooting sideways to allow some space for the other man. The two quickly exchanged places, Cody being careful to keep pressure on the bandage that had been hastily applied to the wounded trooper's neck as the corpsman took the flashlight.

Still crouched behind the vehicle, the medic shuffled to the kit and began searching it, carefully patting down each pocket.

The corpsman carried himself with an odd calmness, and even with enemy fire landing only feet away his actions were measured and his hands steady. It was the kind of tentative confidence born through experience and training, both of which Nickeli had plenty. He'd come to understand what he had to do to keep his comrades alive, and had come to grips with the fact that he wouldn't always be able to save everyone. The latter thought sometimes left him with a knot in his gut, but that was the simple truth of it.

Cursing, the marine glanced up from the bundle of medical supplies near his knees. He couldn't find a compression wrap or a hemostat dressing to work as a substitute, and he cast a concerned look back toward Cody and the wounded marine.

"Cody," Nick called the man he'd met only a few minutes ago and the marine looked up sharply. "I need to get supplies from the infirmary, keep pressure on that dressing and keep him still. I'll be right back."

To the man's credit, he simply nodded in spite of the expression of dawning horror that was creeping across his face and he went back to the wounded sentry as Nickeli crept toward the back of the stationary vehicle.

Clicking the off the flashlight, he shoved the black metal cylinder into his holster that his sidearm had occupied a moment before. It made for an awkward fit, but it would have to work the twenty-one year old decided as he fixed his grasp on his pistol, the weapon made slippery by the blood that coated his hands.

He peered from cover, waiting for a break in the fire. The medical building was only a few dozen meters away, but it may as well have been a kilometer. He would be _very _exposed, and with only his olive green T-shirt to protect him during his sprint, the mortar and small arms fire would be less than merciful to Nickeli should their paths cross.

It was tempting to fire back toward the mountains with his pistol, but corpsman in him reminded him that he had other priorities. Besides, the slopes were over two hundred meters away, and while Nick was a good shot with his berretta he was rather doubtful that he would hit much of anything if he were to fire back into the darkness at the pinpricks of light in the distance.

"Damnit," Vandas swore as he realized no break in the fire was coming. "Covering fire!"

The call echoed across the base from marine to marine and the air was suddenly filled with streams of glowing orange tracers that arched toward hills like swarms of angry fireflies. Nickeli leapt from cover under the protective wall of fire and dashed toward the aid station.

Despite the enemy rounds that continued to whiz by and snap in the dirt near his boots, the corpsman reached the shack breathless, but unharmed. Throwing the door open, he rushed into the building. The single-room structure was a mess; papers and writing utensils scattered across the floor by his fellow medics as they'd rushed out into the conflict and holes punched in the structure's thin walls by the firefight outside. Grabbing the nearest medical pack, Nick hastily rifled through the bag and procured a few other items from cabinets and shelves around the room. Shoving them into the pack, he struggled momentarily with one of the zippers before throwing the straps of the rucksack over his shoulders and returning to the door.

Suddenly, as his foot met soil as he dashed from the infirmary, he felt a wave of heat creep down his back and was carried forward as it surged past him like a massive gust of wind as the medical building exploded in a brilliant orange and brown behind him.

The first thing to reunite with the ground was Nickeli's forehead, quickly followed by the rest of his body as the air was pushed from his lungs. Ears ringing and face still buried in the brunette soil, there was little the dazed private could do as the world retreated into darkness.

* * *

On the other side of the base Aaron pressed himself deeper into the shadow of the Jersey barrier as rounds continued to snap as they cut through the air overhead and took small pieces out of his refuge, spraying cement dust in every direction.

The lance corporal's knuckles whitened against the grip of his M4A1, the carbine the only weapon available to him in the chaos of the attack. Mentally counting the number of rounds remaining in his only magazine, he waited for a break in the fire so that he might make them count.

Ditore swore as another incoming piece of lead impacted the wall to his back and blasted broken cement fragments into his face. In truth, he should've been counting his blessings- many of the other men who'd rushed out from their dinners or bunks didn't have the advantage of body armor, and he was silently thankful he'd neglected to take it off half-an-hour ago.

Hearing the distant report of one of the Striker grenade launchers along the perimeter, the supply officer allowed himself some satisfaction in the knowledge that the base had dug its heels into the sand and was finally pushing back after nearly fifteen minutes.

Now, with more marine lead in the air than that of the enemy, it became a matter of inevitability. The insurgents would either withdraw under the intense fire of the combat outpost's heavy ordinance, or be crushed by the imminent arrival of the friendly air support that hung over the installation's shoulder like a vengeful guardian.

That was to assume they _were _insurgents, of course. Without night gear, he hadn't seen anything of the enemy and he— along with most of the other marines —were firing at muzzle flashes.

Suddenly, Aaron felt the concrete behind him rumble and heard the bellowing sound of a diesel engine approaching. From his right the massive silhouette of a Light Assault Vehicle appeared, the imposing six-wheeled transport jerking to a halt between the lance corporal and the incoming fire.

Orienting its gun toward the enemy, the armored vehicle's punishing 25mm cannon spoke- erasing an enemy position on the hillside.

At the moment, it seemed like the entirety of Combat Outpost Paladin breathed a sigh of relief- Ditore included. The swift return of the patrol from the valley below promised that the installation would survive to see the light of a new day, no matter how the odds had been stacked against them before.

Moving alongside the LAV, a fireteam appeared and sought cover near their rolling shield, firing on the slope as they did so. Tapping one on the shoulder as the rifleman crouched into cover next to him, the supply officer gestured to his magazine over the clamor of the battle around them. The lance corporal's newfound comrade understood, and he was quickly provided two fresh clips.

Taking a moment to exchange magazines, the marine then brought his weapon to his shoulder and rejoined the fray.

Over the rattle of his carbine, he heard the marine next to him shout. Releasing the compressed trigger, he was suddenly aware of the roaring buzz of a helicopter's blades cutting through the night air in the distance.

"Radio! I need a radio, goddamnit!" A voice rose above the others.

Looking over his shoulder to the desperate call, Aaron spotted Captain Rhodes—the installation's ranking officer—half-crawling over one of the earthen-filled barriers to extend a grasping hand.

It took a moment for the revelation to dawn upon him that the commander was beckoning to him for a handheld radio. His hand first distinctively shot to his shoulder where a small black combat transmitter usually resided. However, when he felt only the burlap-like texture of his Kevlar, he returned the Captain's gaze- his expression filled with confusion and questioning.

However feeling a tap on his shoulder, his attention snapped right and he found that a radio had been pressed against his arm. Following the gloved hand holding the end of it, he looked to the shadowy face of the marine, two white orbs staring at him with impatient expectance.

Aaron's expression went from inquisitive, to confused, and finally to alarmed as he made the connection. Recover from his momentary lapse of thought, he took the device and quickly tossed it to the waiting Captain who pushed himself off the barrier and brought the transmitter to his lips.

"Air, this Paladin Actual. We're taking fire from the north and east, requesting you suppress those positions. Laser marked, be advised danger close, over."

"Paladin Actual this Talon Two," Aaron heard the reply from the newly arrived aircraft through the radio of a nearby marine, the loud whine of the engine audible in the background. "Roger your last, confirm danger close. Splash in ten seconds."

High above the conflict, the small scout helicopter crested one of the ridges that revealed the valley beyond. The aviator scanned the darkness, his night vision equipment turning the world a pale jade.

"Those guys are getting lit up," he commented, and he saw his copilot bob his head in agreement.

In the distance, the combat outpost was a mass of flickering pricks of light, each weapon and tracer round a glowing dot in the night.

"We've got firing positions overlooking the base," the other aviator observed.

Scanning the mountside, the man at the controls gave his acknowledgement as he found the small signature along the crest of the ridge. The entire mountain side was a mass of red blurs on his thermal scope, the small crimson objects appearing and disappearing amongst the rocks as they received and returned fire.

The pilot changed his radio channel and adjusted the small microphone that sat on a metal boom near his mouth. "Talon Two to Godfather, we've been cleared hot by forward observer. Beginning gun run."

"Godfather copies. Confirm cleared hot."

The little bird pitched forward, its nose lowering as it dropped nearly a hundred feet and fixed its sights on the rocky peak. The pilot compressed the trigger; the miniguns on either of the helicopter's stubby wings roared and sent a band of bright tracer fire cutting through the night like a massive crimson buzz saw.

"Switching to HE rockets." The pilot stated to his colleague calmly as his thumb twitch minutely on the joystick. Tapping the trigger lightly two more times, the night was filled with the piercing howl of two rockets as they raced through the dark followed by bright orange tails. The projectiles buried themselves in the mountainside and seemed to carry part of the landscape with them as they exploded.

Noticing the altimeter growing perilously slim, the marine aviator eased the flight controls back, leveling the aircraft from its dive and he pushed on one of the foot pedals, gently rolling the AH-6 to circle and make another run.

Without warning, the helicopter jerked hard to the left as if pulled by a string like a child's toy. In the cockpit panels suddenly went black and only those systems on separate battery reserves like the radio and night operations equipment continued to work, though the pilot's vision momentarily scrambled as the optics in his helmet went out of focus for a moment before correcting themselves.

"Talon Two, _major_ damage." The copilot relayed over the radio's command channel as he pulled the joy stick back into his chest and the aircraft began to lose altitude.

"Restart main powerplant," The pilot ordered, throttling the struggling engine as the base below grew larger. The engine awoke once more and strained to keep the craft in the air as the various panels and indicators powered-up, bombarding the two aviators with flashing emergency lights and the shrill cry of altitude and engine alarms.

But it was too much for the rotor-wing's single engine, and pilot made a desperate call across the radio's emergency frequency. "Mayday, mayday, mayday, Talon Two going down."

There was no grace to the Little Bird's descent; it simply fell from the sky like a stone, its rotors still beating the sky in a futile bid to stay aloft.

It came to earth nearly fifty meters outside the perimeter, the craft's small landing skids instantly buckling under the force of the impact and smashing the nose of the fuselage into the ground. The rotors shattered like glass as they spun against the rocky terrain, throwing segments of broken steel in a lethal torrent of flying metal.

It bounced a short distance before coming down to a symphony of shattering glass and the moaning of steel being pushed to the breaking point. For a brief moment, the screeching of the airframe being torn apart by the ground was the only thing that could be heard in the valley before it came to a halt with an air of finality about it, leaving the night in an eerie silence as the gunfire abruptly ceased on both sides.

* * *

**A/N: And there it is. I'll likely spend the next few weeks working on and finalizing the story outline I've created. I'm not really sure when you'll hear from me next, but having an outline should speed up the writing process in the future. Let a review and tell me what you think, and have a happy 2013.**


	2. Here There Be Dragons

Consciousness returned as a dull aurora.

Nick inhaled sharply as the world grew bring once more, sputtering as he took in a lungful of dust and soot. Rolling his head sideways, he was able to liberate his mouth and nose from their soil enclosure and breathe freely, affording him a moment to compose himself, the slight rise and fall of his chest lifting his entire body. Pursing his lips, the corpsman took notice of the gritty sensation of dirt that caked them and spit the foul substance into the grass.

He rose to his knees and—taking few seconds more to will his stiff body into action—rose to his feet.

Dusting the soil from his green T-shirt, he quickly took stock of the situation. Achy ribs protested every movement, and peering down the collar of his dirty shirt the marine found several sizeable red blotches that were sure to become ugly bruises. His head was throbbing as well, aggravated by his now upright position and could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as it drummed at the inside of his ears, though he realized the world around him sounded muted and off-key.

His eyes keenly took in the details of his surroundings—a grassy clearing choked on all sides by thick vegetation—and then glanced to the sky, hoping to deduce the time as he realized his wristwatch had vanished.

The horizon had a rich red-orange glow as the sun sat low in the sky, casting a weak crimson light and turning the shadows around the lone man from black to a dull gray. But—without his bearings or a compass—the private couldn't be sure whether it was rising or setting.

Seeing no answers coming from above, Nick shifted his attention to his more immediate surroundings and began to further consider the details of the grove he'd awoken in. The grass was thick and unmanicured, growing to finger's length in some spots and choked with weeds that stood high enough to meet the private's knee as he milled about the clearing. The marine quietly panned the line of brush around him, searching for a breach in the undergrowth that might betray a path or fresh trail.

However, the forest around him revealed nothing, so he continued scanning the brush for where it seemed thinnest—deeming it the most practical route—and stepped into the blanket of darkness under the thick canopy as he began to pick his way through the maze of hanging vines and downed trees.

The air was heavy with moisture that seemed to leave the rrivate breathless from the slightest effort, though the forest floor was rich with the smell of fresh rain, making it a maze of slick rock faces and tangled thickets that pulled at his legs and clothing, periodically forcing him to reroute when in spots where it was impassably thick.

He waded and backtracked around in the brush for— what seemed to his best estimate—nearly hour more, until he suddenly parted the vegetation to find himself on the edge of a trail that divided the woods as it followed the winding contours of the land.

Straddling the threshold between the sunbaked dirt of the path and the dark, heavy soil of the shaded forest, Nick looked down the trail to both sides, following it as far as he could until the thin tan stripe veered into the foliage and vanished.

It seemed to the enlisted man's eye well travelled, and he could see the inward curve and perpendicular lines left by the heavy footfalls of boots.

Scanning the area thoroughly to ensure he hadn't overlooked anything, he selected the set prints that seemed the freshest and began to follow them.

The path was rough and had been washed out in many places, leaving narrow channels that bisected the trail and fissures that would capture the feet of anyone not careful enough to avoid them.

Despite this, Vandas made comparatively good time and as he walked the world gradually grew brighter as the foliage flanking the path on either side became progressively less dense. Shortly there after, he reached the trailhead and the land opened up ahead of him into a vast expanse of grasslands that serenely rippled with the wind in waves.

For the beleaguered corpsman, it was a godsend.

The wilderness trail he'd been following ended, leaving him standing on the side of a gravel road that snaked along the wood line. Knocking the dust and twigs from his person, Nickeli marched on.

* * *

Nick sat silently along the side of the road, crouched in a drainage ditch that concealed him up to the waist and ran parallel to the dirt street he'd began following some time ago, virtually invisible amongst the tall grass as he cautiously observed what lie ahead of him.

A sizeable clearing had been cut into the timberline where several structures were now situated. Most were simple open-air storage areas with corrugated roofs under which the trooper could see stacks of assorted crates and equipment draped with tarps to shield them from the elements, but there was also a small dwelling on the property. It had a metal finish that seemed as though it may have once been a finely polished silver color, though it had been tarnished by the weather and neglect, leaving it a lusterless grey.

The corpsman's hand rested on his holster, fingers drumming anxiously against the grip of the sidearm that sat snuggly inside as he contemplated his next action.

He'd been waiting in vigilant silence for nearly ten minutes as he waited for some indication as to whether or not the residence was occupied. There was the distant chorus of the woods as trees rustled in the wind and wildlife called, but he'd seen and heard nothing from the small compound.

For someone accustomed to the protective enclosure of body armor and the sound of a squad of his fellow marines sitting at his back, solitude was a foreign and uneasy experience, especially when so woefully equipped.

Drawing his sidearm from the drop holster on his right thigh, Nick began to advance along the shallow trench, the very top of his head a barely visible form as he moved in a stooped walk toward the settlement. Pausing where the ditch became a narrow pipe that disappeared into the earth, he lingered for a moment; adjusting his grip on the weapon as he exhaled unevenly, trying to draw reassurance from the weight of the Berretta as yet another visual scan of the area yielded nothing noteworthy.

Swallowing his apprehension, the Private pulled himself up the channels's embankment and swiftly crossed the clearing, pistol held at the ready.

Reaching the building, he placed his back against the exterior wall and shuffled toward the door, palms growing somewhat moist against the weapon's black alloy handle. Finding a short flight of stairs that led to the door, Nick took a deep breath and noiselessly climbed them.

Oddly, the door lacked an obvious handle and in its place was a small jade button mounted on the door frame. Taking a long moment to quiet his pounding heart, the marine lightly tapped the button and stormed inside as the door opened, sidearm extended before him as he stepped into the black cloak of darkness on the other side and a wave of cold, dry air sent a momentary chill down the length of his spine.

Squinting into the blackness, he strained his eyes to examine the contents of the room by the glow of a small skylight on the other side of the black chamber, but could make out little more than rough outlines.

Without warning, the door came down and sealed behind him, leaving him in almost utter darkness for a moment as he tentatively advanced further inside, trying his best not to bump into anything as he blindly navigated chamber.

After a few moments of black silence, the eerie void was filled with a monotone _beep…beep…beep _that resonated through the enclosed space.

Just as Nickeli began to wonder what the source of the sound might be, he was suddenly bathed in harsh white light as long rows of overhead lights erupted from the shadows.

Overtaken by the sudden inversion from dark to light, he recoiled and covered his eyes, nearly toppling backward as something caught him in the back of the knee.

Reaching back to steady himself on the object, the corpsman composed himself and, after allowing his eyes to adjust, took a better look at his surroundings.

_Someone's home, _Nick quickly gathered, glancing back at a low table that rested against the back of his leg and the rest of the quaint foyer he found himself in the middle of. The structure's interior was a single chamber with a long couch that ran along the wall and bent away at a right angle, serving as a boundary between the greeting area and the kitchen beyond it.

In the opposite corner, an area had been partitioned off with the addition of a privacy screen to create a small sleeping area. Searching the dwelling to ensure he was alone, Nickeli allowed his weapon to fall and returned it to its place on his thigh, but rested his hand near it as he began to explore the room.

Running his hand along the polished steel of the kitchen counter, he began to look around at the room and found it oddly…_featureless_. The walls consisted of large lusterless steels panels; the plates so painstakingly aligned that the seams between them were almost indistinguishable from the shadows.

The sharp, geometric lines of the furniture and walls made the empty chamber seem that much more devoid of life, and paired with the pervasive silence the room became downright eerie.

However, his attention was suddenly drawn away from the surrounding room as his hand encountered a ridge on the countertop. Glancing down, he found has palm resting against the outer lip of a deep sink.

Instantly overtaken by the sensation of fiery tightness that rose from deep within his throat, he quickly found the handle and with a twitch of the wrist sent a stream of cool, clear water pouring from the faucet.

Nick began to catch the water with a cupped hand and brought it to his mouth, repeating the motion as fast as he could empty his palm. However, he soon abandon the rather vain action as he realized he'd never quench the ravenous thirst that possessed him and instead stuck his head into the deep basin and lapped at the stream of cool liquid, spraying water across his face and soaking the front of his shirt down to the sternum.

The sensation of the cold drink trickling down his dry throat was reinvigorating, and the clutching thirst that had gripped his throat like an iron hand faded. Drinking as much as he could, he then pushed his head underneath the faucet and let it filter through his bristly brown hair, washing away flecks of dirt and the sticky residue of dried sweat.

Extricating himself from the sink, Nickeli leaned over the sink with his hands on either side, watching the murky water spiral around the drain as it fell from his chin, chest heaving from the long drink.

Though the yearning cries of his aching body for rest and water now fell silent, the marine's mind refused to grant him reprieve.

He'd been pushing the plaguing thoughts into the far corner of his mind and focusing on the simple goals he'd been progressively setting for himself as he walked, but he found himself suddenly without distraction and the concerns crowded back into conscious thought.

_Where was he? How bad had the attack been? Why had he awoken in woods? _The questions went without answer as Nickeli struggled to make sense of the previous evening as he asserted what he knew.

He wasn't in the valley anymore.

Nick found the idea difficult to process, but it was the one thing he was certain of. The woodlands he'd trekked through were too temperate and wet, and were a far cry from the fairly dry ridges and lakebeds of the lowlands where Paladin outpost resided.

Again, the twenty-one year old suppressed the worrisome thoughts. It was something to fret about later, he decided. For now, without a wider view of the situation, he would continue to follow the road and see where it took him.

A long, deep sigh escaped from Nickeli's throat. He was hardly a proponent of any plan that left him blindly marching along an unknown route through unfamiliar terrain, but his frustrating inability to see the bigger picture meant he had no alternatives for the time being.

Running a hand over his scalp, the trooper sent a fine mist water droplets falling from his hair as he glanced at the bare walls of the dwelling, searching for a reason to delay his departure.

However, he could find nothing to distract himself further and wandered somewhat reluctantly to the door over the course of several minutes.

Stepping back out into the thick humidity, Nick found the stifling heat of the late morning sun to be a bit more tolerable and walked down the steps and followed a small dirt path where the thick grass had been worn away by use back toward the road as the building's heavy door fell into place behind him.

Pausing along the edge of the road just before the grass became gravel, the private first class looked to his right and followed the road as it wound along the wood line back toward the trailhead from which he'd emerged. To his left, he surveyed the unfamiliar road that the corpsman fervently hoped would prove to be his way out. He perched his lips, releasing a long breath.

_Great, more walking, _Nickeli cringed, sticking his thumbs in the pockets of his utility pants. A morning of traversing the rough landscape and weathered trails had left the private with an aching tightness in his legs and a slight hesitance to take to the road once more.

He'd have preferred a more certain course of action than simply wandering along the dirt lane until he found something or someone, but he again found himself at the mercy of circumstance so—for now, at least—he had no other recourse. Pulling his hands from his pockets, Nick began walking.

* * *

Ashley ran her gloved fingers through her hair, carefully tucking the long, dark-brown threads into a perfect bun.

It was something of a nervous habit she'd acquired, and she mentally chided herself for doing it as she finished adjust how it sat on her head.

Picking up her helmet from where it leaned against her thigh, the gunnery chief put it on and again assessed the situation.

She was residing in a narrow irrigation ditch, with about an inch of stinking, stagnate water a few inches below where she'd braced her legs against the opposing side of the trench to keep her boots out of it.

"Chief," a voice spoke and Ashley glanced up.

A few meters away, Nirali was lying prone near the top of the channel with the muzzle of her rifle parting a patch of tall tan grass, concern and exhaustion drawing subtle lines across the dark skin of her forehead and cheeks.

"Check on Groves for me, would you?" The lookout requested and the marine moved to oblige, carefully steadying herself against the steep embankment with one hand as she moved to the supine form of her squadmate a few meters away.

Halting, she adopted a kneeling position and tapped at her omni-tool, cloaking her left forearm with a semi-translucent orange glow as she accessed the medical suite integrated into the fallen rifleman's hardsuit.

He was unconscious now, which seemed like a small mercy in contrast to his strangled, agonized screaming as the two women had dragged him to safety, the sheer recollection of his cries jolting to the gunnery chief.

A rectangular frame appeared on Ashley's wrist; long lists of text and charts scrolling across the display. Despite this, the gunnery chief found herself gaping at the four punctures in his chestplate, the exposed ceramic armor splintered and caved inward around them.

A sensation of uncertainty sent a cold rush up the marine's spine, putting the hair on the back of her neck on end. The precision of the Geth was truly frightening. Only a few hours before, she'd seen half a platoon cut down by the synthetic menace; dozens of well-trained Alliance warriors felled with mechanical efficiency.

She'd seen a few others scatter and retreat toward the scientific camp as their position was overrun, but the sound of battle had risen from beyond the horizon shortly after Ashley and Nirali had taken refuge in the irrigation ditch but fell silent a few minutes later, leaving the landscape in unnatural silence.

Forcing her mind back to the present, Gunnery Chief Williams glanced at the wounded man's reading as they compiled themselves on her arm. She'd expended the entirety of the trio's medigel in an attempt to halt the downward spiral of his vitals as the young marine hemorrhaged, but had only succeeded in slowing the decline.

Closing her omni-tool, Ash sat down in the sloped grass next to the slowly fading soul and lingered in silence, an expression of forlorn sadness on a face she'd had preferred appear stoic, making her thankful for the small degree of privacy granted by her helmet.

Opening a small pouch on the belt that ran along the waist of her armor, the marine produced a small piece of paper and unfolded it several times to reveal a weatherproofed map of the area. Setting it across her knee, she placed a finger on the chart and began to follow the small line that she knew to be the platoon's patrol route, examining the land along it for her current position.

The local communications network had been blacked out, severing her link to satellite feeds and leaving the rest of the human forces in the area to an uncertain fate.

Quickly referencing the small compass in the corner of her helmet's heads-up-display, she began working feverishly, pulling a small black marker from her armor and plotting a route that skirted around the colony in the direction of an isolated Alliance listening post that she hoped had been left untouched by the sudden assault on the garden world.

"Hey Chief," Nirali spoke with slow hesitance as she narrowed her eyes in the direction of the woodline that flanked the ditch, calling Ashley's attention away from the chart spread across her lap. "I see someth- "

There was the sudden, sharp crack of a mass driver and the rifleman was violently thrown to the opposing side of the narrow channel, the sound of flesh and ceramic slamming against the embankment as her fellow marine tumbled limply down the slope drawing an involuntary cringe from the gunnery chief.

At the same instant, the line of brush Nirali had been watching erupted in a vicious hail of tungsten as a number of looming figures revealed themselves and began marching steadily toward the trench.

Ash immediately scrambled into the center of the irrigation ditch where it was deepest, running in a low crouch back toward where the trio had piled their equipment as incoming rounds tore through the long grass that sat along the dike's upper crest, showering soil and plant matter on the channel's two remaining occupants.

Locating her weapon amongst the small pile of gear, the marine clambered up the slope and threw herself down as the rifle unfolded itself in her arms.

Tucking it into her shoulder, Ashley placed the weapon's crosshairs on the slowly advancing form of the nearest geth and began fire in short bursts, her fire dancing through the air as short white starbursts in contrast to the long pale-blue beams streaming from the weapons of her synthetic foes.

Even as the enemy fire grew increasingly accurate and rounds began to drum at her shield, Ashley held her ground, firing ineffectually at the cold blue eye of a trooper, until the barrage proved to be too much for her dwindling barriers and her protective sphere failed in a burst of white electricity.

With her best layer of defense suddenly gone, a slug sparked off a nearby stone and struck one of her armored gauntlets, nearly knocking the weapon out of her hands and adding another ugly black scar the hardsuit's coat of white paint. Quickly retreating down the embankment as a line of holes where stitched in the dirt only an arm's length away, Ashley landed in the small stream, immersing her boots to just above the toes.

However, the reprieve granted by her earthen sanctuary proved fleeting, as no sooner had the small blue bar on the chief's HUD refilled then the field around her flared a brilliant teal.

Sent reeling by the shots, Ash brought her rifle to bear and spun to face the threat.

A few dozen meters away, a geth trooper was stalking toward her through the center of the trench with its weapon raised as several more of the synthetic soldiers appeared along the banks of the ditch and fell in line behind it.

The gunnery chief faltered, shooting a glance over her shoulder toward the long, empty passageway that disappeared toward the horizon then back toward the foe that would soon be upon her.

Between her and the rapidly advancing enemy, the crumpled form of her fallen squadmate lie in the bottom of the shallow gully, the woman's amber eyes held wide in a final instant of shock now eternally frozen on her face, dark crimson flowing freely across her features from the wound only a few inches above her brow.

Nearby lie the unresponsive Sergeant Groves, the subtle rise and fall of his chest amongst the long grass the only indication that the young man was still faintly clinging to life.

Ashley's gaze trembled on the supine body of her brother in arms, drawing a sharp breath as an icy sensation seemed to bury itself in her gut like a dagger. Her mind was at war with itself; hesitance combating honor, instinct pulling her in both directions; frozen by indecision even as the enemy bore down upon her.

_I might be able to make it to him. _

The thought seemed to set itself in the marine's stomach like a heavy stone. She could try. She could rush to his side and carry him across her shoulder to safety, and even should she fail and be brought down by the rain of enemy fire, it would be a soldier's death nevertheless.

Behind her was the horizon; the empty passageway set before her as an offer of deliverance. But it would mean abandoning her comrade to his fate so that she might live to see another sunrise.

Ashley ran.

* * *

**A/N: Well, my "little" hiatus lasted considerably longer than I'd have liked, but I did get a fantastic amount of pre-writing done and the next six chapters should come out a lot sooner, especially with my school year at an end. **

**Also, I'm making some edits to the Alliance rank system. The system I'm using has the ranks of Service/Operations/Gunnery Chief as replacing what would be the United States Marine Corps warrant officer ranks. This was the most prudent choice in a lot of ways. First, it would explain what makes Ashley unique from the rest of the Normandy's marine detachment (she's a specialist, excelling at certain tasks above the skills of most marine officers with the possible exception of Shepard as an N7). Given a marine warrant officer's duties along with the specialty, I think this actually folds into the canon quiet nicely. Additionally, it gives me more NCO ranks to work with throughout the story and—being more similar to the modern system—gives me a better understanding of it.**

**Finally, this was going to be part of a larger chapter, but I choose to cut it here. Hopefully, the rest of it will be released in a week or two.**


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